


Til the Casket Drops

by Rose_Morgan



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:38:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8714254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Morgan/pseuds/Rose_Morgan
Summary: "You asked me how long I'd stay by your side, so I answered with only just one reply: 'til the casket drops, 'til my dying day, 'til my heartbeat stops, 'til my legs just break." –Til the Casket Drops (ZZ Ward)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first POI story. Comments are welcome, and appreciated.

**_December 15, 2011_ **

**_ET (estimated time): 8:40pm_ **

 

“Ms. Morgan?” Finch had dialed the fixer’s number seconds after watching the video of Carter reporting John’s location.

 

_“Who is this?”_

 

“You may call me Harold.”

 

_“How did you get my number?”_

 

“Mutual friend. He assisted you on a... delicate negotiation with a certain pharmaceutical company.”

 

_“So you're the guy on the other end of the phone. How is John?”_

 

“That’s actually why I called. He’s in danger, and I need your help.”

 

_“My help?”_

 

“Your cousin, Monica, is in the FBI. I need you to put me in touch with her.”

 

_“Alright.”_

 

Finch’s phone beeped a minute after Zoe hung up, and he quickly dialed the number she’d sent. “Agent Morgan?”

 

_“Yes?”_

 

“My name is Harold. Your cousin, Zoe, gave me your number. I need your help with an urgent matter. An associate of mine, and a friend of your cousin’s, is in grave danger. The CIA is after him. I need you to get to the roof of St. George’s Hospital as fast as you can, and you’ll need a sniper rifle.”

 

_“I’ll be there.”_

 

* * *

 

**_ET: 8:50pm_ **

 

“Hello, John.” Snow greeted, shutting his car door.

 

“Mark.”

 

“Glad to see you're still alive.”

 

“I bet you are.”

 

“Surprised you ended up in New York City. Thought you'd get yourself a cabin in the woods-- Montana, maybe.”

 

“What do you want, Mark?”

 

“Time to come home, John. Slate's been wiped clean.”

 

“You know that will never happen.” John said. A gunshot rang out, and a bullet caught him in the abdomen. He fired his weapon in Mark’s direction, before a second bullet landed in his leg.

 

Evans, who had been posed to take a third shot, went rigid when he himself was shot. The bullet lodged itself in his back, and another hit him in the shoulder. He fell to the ground, unconscious, and a woman in a suit kicked his sniper rifle away, replacing it with her own. She lined up the shot and hit Snow in the leg, arm, shoulder, and foot. Due Snow being CIA, she couldn’t take the headshot, but he would still be out of commission for at least a week. Or two.

 

“Evans is unconscious, and Snow is injured. Your friend was shot in the stomach and leg, so there’s a good chance he’s lost a lot of blood. He’s probably headed for the stairs.” she said, holding her cellphone with her shoulder as she disassembled her rifle. She kicked Evans’ rifle over ledge after taking it apart, and put her own gear back in the canvas bag.

 

_“I’m on my way. Can you see if you can find him?” Finch said, doing his best not to break the speed limit._

 

“I’ll do my best.” the woman nodded, and slung the bag over her shoulder.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Harold.”

 

_“John, I've been trying to call you.”_

 

“Yeah, I've been kind of busy.”

 

_“Where are you?”_

 

“Parking structure. It's not looking good.”

 

_“Carter sold you out. They got to her.”_

 

“Yeah, they're clever like that.” John said, a hand on his bleeding abdomen. “I wanted to say thank you, Harold, for giving me a second chance.”

 

_“It's not over, John. I'm close. Just get to the ground floor.”_

 

“No. You stay away. Don't even risk it.”

 

_“John, listen to me. I’ve enlisted some outside help. She’s nearby. She’ll be with you soon.”_

 

John stumbled slowly down the stairs, before a pair of arm caught his shoulders. He instinctively moved to fight, but the person blocked him. He was too weak to try again, so he just prayed that this was the person who Finch was talking about. “Who are you?”

 

“A friend.”

 

“Why are you helping me?”

 

“It’s my job.” the woman answered, and wrapped an arm around his back. She slung one of his arms over her shoulder, and helped him walk down the remaining stairs.

 

John couldn’t quite make out her face, since it was dark and he was close to passing out due to the blood loss, but he was conscious enough to notice that she was dressed in a suit. She was also rather attractive. Not to mention fairly strong. “You’re not CIA.”

 

“Hell no.” her remark would’ve made him chuckle if the circumstances had been different.

 

“Are you a detective?”

 

“I’m a friend.”

 

“Government?”

 

“Who I am and what I do is not important.” she said, and stopped once they reached a landing that separated the stairs. She carefully lifted him up and placed him across her shoulders, one hand on his legs and the other holding his arms in place. The technique she was using was called ‘fireman’s carry’, which she’d learned in the Army.

 

If John had been conscious, he would’ve wondered how she could manage to carry him, a 6’2 man who weighed 190lbs, so effortlessly. But he wasn’t fully conscious, so he wasn’t really thinking.

 

The woman set him down once they reached the ground floor, and helped him over to the car that had just pulled up in front of the curb. “He’s all yours, Harold.”

 

“Thank you, Ms. Morgan.”

 

“Zoe?” John murmured, having heard the fixer’s last name.

 

The woman in the suit smiled and shook her head as she helped him into the car. She turned back to Harold once she’d shut the car door behind John, who had just closed his eyes. “Get him out of here.” she instructed, and Finch nodded, limping over to the driver’s side.

 

“Thank you. We’ll be in touch.” Finch said, and shut the driver’s door, speeding off at a rate that would give every cop a heart attack. Well, except for the ones in Manhattan.

 

Monica pulled out her cellphone and called Zoe as she walked to her car. “Who exactly did you give my number to?”

 

_“He’s a friend. He helped me out with that pharmaceutical incident a few months back.”_

 

“Can I trust him?”

 

_“Yes. Have you ever known me to hand out your number to someone I didn’t trust?”_

 

“How about all those guys you set me up with after Sawyer and I broke up?”

 

_“That was different.”_

 

“Zoe, you set me up with five guys and I arrested three of them.”

 

_“So I’m a little rusty.”_

 

“Am I going to have to arrest these guys too?”

 

_“No. They’re the good guys.”_

 

“Fine, but if you’re wrong….”

 

_“I’m not.”_

 

“Okay, whatever. I have to get back to the office. Goodnight.” Monica sighed in exasperation, and ended the call. Maybe Zoe was right. Maybe the guys she had just helped were good people. Then again, most good people didn’t have the CIA chasing them. However, she’d been after Snow ever since the CIA had given her and her team permission to bring him in. They were concerned that he was becoming obsessed with a former co-worker. It just so happened that his old co-worker was the main suspect in her investigation. If she ever came across the ‘Man in the Suit’, she wasn’t sure if she would arrest him, shoot him, or interrogate him. Or maybe she’d do all three, though not necessarily in that order.


End file.
